This is War
by The Maiden of Autumn
Summary: It's World War 1, and Light Yagami signs up to be shipped to England to help pay his ailing mother's medical bills. The moment he arrives, he's faced with the horrific truth that war is not glorious. He's forced to question the purpose of living, face the horrors of war and his own sexuality as he meets and befriends L, a war doctor who braves the trenches to save lives. LightxL.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

**Full Summary:**

In the midst of World War 1, Light Yagami, a second-generation Japanese immigrant, signs up to be shipped off to England to for his country in his best friend's place and to help pay for his ailing mother's medical bills. The moment sets foot in war-ravaged France, though, he's faced with the horrific truth that war is not glorious and honorable as the government makes it out to be. Death, illness, and disease run rampant even among the better-supplied American troops, and he's faced with watching friend after friend, comrade after comrade be killed in the most horrific way imaginable, and it's even worse as he realizes that's the norm for trench warfare.

Throughout his time in the middle of the Great War, he's forced to face the question of his purpose in life, face the horrors and realities of war, and even his own sexuality as he meets and befriends L, a war doctor who switches between saving lives in the hospital and venturing out into the trenches themselves to save lives. LightxL.

* * *

On June 28, 1914, Austria-Hungary's beloved Archduke Ferdinand and his reputedly pregnant wife were assassinated by a radical from Serbia, part of a group known only as the Black Hand.

Austria-Hungary demanded that Serbia pay-

But Serbia, backed by Russia, refused, plunging all of Europe into a destructive, consuming war not long after.

For three years, this war waged on, the horrors of trench warfare and the total destruction wreaked upon the French countryside reaching shocked American ears.

The President wanted to stay out of the war and declared neutrality- until the Germans sank the _Lusitania_, killing all American passengers aboard, and later sent the Zimmerman telegram, promising Mexico the territory of the American states of New Mexico, Texas, and California if they would invade the U.S. from the south.

The telegram was intercepted, and the nation plunged into war.

Over a million US soldiers would eventually be shipped to England to fight in what would become the Great War, or the first World War.

In the first wave, 300,000 men were sent to fight for America in this tragedy.

Eventually, the cost of human life recorded would total 20 million people- soldiers and civilians, from both sides.

This is the reality of the war that encompassed the whole world.

* * *

Light Yagami's mother had always been rather sickly- she was not the most well of persons, and more often than not, was sick in bed recovering rather than working. But it was alright- Light's father had been a rather wealthy Japanese merchant in their home country, and had decided to migrate to America, drawn by the tales of the opportunities merchants had, what with the Americans scrambling for anything foreign.

He had sold his shop to another merchant for good money, packed up the tools of his trade, and had traveled with his young wife of five years to America, riding comfortably in first class due to their well-off state.

When he arrived, his father had quickly went about making arrangements for living, striking a deal with a landowner and buying a small house in one of the more-run down parts of the city, but better than the slums so many were forced to inhabit.

Then, Soichiro Yagami had snatched up a building that rested on one of America's busiest streets- just a block or so from Wall Street. He converted it into a shop, where he sold his goods- traditional, authentic Japanese cuisine that came in easy-to-eat containers. Businessmen could come and buy it, and then eat it easily while heading back to their workplace. Or, in the morning when they were rushing to work, they could stop by and have a hot breakfast ready for them in no time at all. He also sold Japanese desserts- pastries and the such that were a huge hit with commuters.

Light's father made good money, and eventually, he and his wife were able to fix up their house, and when Light was born a few years afterwards, Soichiro was able to put his son through school, insisting that Light not be illiterate in the English language like Sachiko Yagami was, or speak with a "funny" accent, like Soichiro himself did.

Light was an intelligent boy, able to speak Japanese and English fluently. He planned on going to college- his father had been saving for years in order for Light to be able to go to a good college. He planned on perhaps becoming a detective, or maybe a math teacher- Light so loved numbers and calculations, and mathematics came easy to him.

He was 16 years old when the first rumors of war reached American ears in 1914, and when America joined the war in 1917, after the sinking of the Lusitania and the interception of the Zimmerman telegram, he was 19 and in his first year of college.

* * *

"Light!"

Light Yagami turned to see his friend, Jonathan Anson running towards him, tails of his coat fluttering out behind him with his jerky movements. Jonathan was a bit awkward, in all respects of the word; a bit on the smaller side, shorter than most and weaker as well, with glasses, a bit of a stutter, and unruly, curly brown hair, he was the very epitome of nondescript.

Yet, he was quite brilliant, and that was mainly why Light liked him so much; he was able to keep up with Light when others were not.

There was a tense, worried look on Jonathan's face, a rumpled, harried aura surrounding him that immediately had Light worried. Jonathan was usually the very picture of dressed perfection; he hated things- especially his own clothes and supplies- being out of order, and for him to not care if his jacket was buttoned wrong or his clothes wrinkled and not quite situated right was troublingly out of character for Jonathan.

He skidded to a halt in front of the patiently-waiting, slightly worried Light, adjusting his skewed glasses with his free hand- the other had nothing but ta single piece of paper clutched in it, something else that was disturbingly odd to Light.

Jonathan never went anywhere without his satchel of textbooks, or some sort of notebook or reading material clutched in his hand.

Something was very, very wrong, and this was only proven by the sheen suspiciously present in Jonathan's blue eyes.

"Is there something wrong?" Light asked tentatively, scanning his friend's form once more carefully, noting any discrepancies in his attire and behavior.

Jonathan nodded, practically shoving the piece of paper into Light's face. "Look, Light!" he said tremulously.

Light shook his head, blinking as his eyes tried to focus on the piece of paper. His eyes narrowed as he read the header on the paper, and then opened wide as he snatched the piece of paper from Jonathan, turning away slightly as he lowered it to a better reading height and scanned over it. "This… why, Jonathan? You can't… you're not…" Light trailed off, unable to find the right words that would communicate what he was trying to get at without offending Jonathan.

"Because I just barely meet the requirements, Light. Just barely. My eyesight is poor, yes, but only when I'm reading. I can see perfectly fine- I just have trouble reading words. I'm small, yes, but I'm an inch over the minimal requirement, and just barely meet the weight requirement. I'm undesirable for this, Light," Jonathan finished, Light looking up to stare at him incredulously, "but I'll work, and I can't get out of it."

"That's not right," Light whispered, looking down to stare at the paper once more.

On the front of the tightly-clutched paper, in capitalized, bold black letters, the words, "DRAFT NOTICE" were printed.

* * *

"Light."

Light looked over to his friend as he took another bite of his apple. He knew the draft notice, though it wasn't currently out in the open, hidden away in Jonathan's coat pocket, still weighed heavily on his friend's mind.

And though he knew it was selfish, he was secretly glad it wasn't him that had gotten that slip of paper in the mail. He knew that it wasn't bad to think that- anyone would have the same thoughts.

Swallowing his bite of food, Light nodded to show his friend that he had heard him. "Yes, Jonathan?" he murmured, somewhat reluctant to hear what Jonathan would have to say.

"I have to… I have to tell my parents," Jonathan said quietly, his lunch uneaten in front of him. He stared at it unseeingly, raising a fork to poke at the salad every now and then. His lower lip trembled slightly, his eyebrows drawn in as he struggled to force the words out. "They'll have to know- I leave for training in Europe in two days. They should know, so that father can start… training someone else to take over in case…" Jonathan trailed off, before he swallowed harshly and flicked his eyes up to regard Light's impassive face with a look of deep resignation.

Light said nothing, his lovely amber eyes assessing Jonathan, before he finally, quietly said, "In case of what?"

"Well, you know war," Jonathan laughed bitterly, stabbing his salad viciously, almost tipping over the brown bowl.

_In case I die._

The thought went unspoken, but it hung in the air, a tangible, bitter weight between them.

Light's brows furrowed and he placed a hand on Jonathan's small wrist, stopping him from attacking his salad. The gentle touch from the warm hand made his friend look up. Light's face was controlled as always, but Jonathan could see that the news that had affected him so harshly had also had an effect on Light as well.

"Don't say things like that," Light told him. "You have to believe in the best, or the worst will happen."

"Don't say that, Light!" Jonathan snapped, jerking his wrist away. "You've heard the rumors and tales drifting from over there- I know you have. I'm not as strong or as fast as others, Light. I can barely keep up with the others in Physical class, Light, not to mention you, because you're one of the fastest men here. And you're not the one with a draft notice sitting their goddamn pocket and about to be shipped out to fight!"

Jonathan leaned back, panting heavily, rubbing his tearing eyes underneath his glasses. "My life just got screwed up, Light, and there's no way I can go back."

Jonathan was right. Light had no idea how he'd react f faced with the situation Jonathan was in- and frankly, he really didn't' want to find out. Still… "I'm sorry, Jonathan." Light apologized quietly, retracting his hand. His words caused Jonathan to look up, staring at Light. "I'm just… I'm sorry for everything that's happened."

Sighing, Jonathan dropped his hand, giving Light a shaky, tremulous smile. "It's fine, Light."

"I'll come with you," Light said suddenly, out of the blue.

"What?" Jonathan asked, taken aback at Light's words. He turned to face his friend, whose face was impassive, yet there were definite lines of determination set within his handsome face.

Light stared down at his apple core, clenching it between his fingers as he continued. "To Europe. I'll go with you. I'll go sign up at the recruitment office later today, and-"

"No, Light," Jonathan interrupted, his eyes flashing almost angrily as he met Light's eyes. "Don't you dare do that. I'd never forgive you if you did," he said, making Light blink, taken aback at the words that were spoken with almost vicious force. Jonathan pushed his salad bowl away, raising his head to stare at Light fixedly. "You have a chance to go on and finish school. Why would you throw that away?" Jonathan asked, shaking his head at Light's seeming foolishness. Which it was. It was simply a rash action, an effect of Jonathan's own situation.

Domino effect- one after the other falling, falling, falling only to collapse. Law of physics, Joanthan was pretty sure.

"Because someone has to look after your ass while you're over there," Light told him, attempting a smile as he did so. It failed miserably, though, as Jonathan still could catch sight of the dismalness darkening Light's usually bright eyes.

"Yeah… but what if we get split up or something?" Jonathan sighed, dismissing Light's attempts at teasing. "No. You just stay here and finish up school. Become a doctor or something, or go teach numbers to other students who can't grasp what the hell the professor is saying. Because God knows, some of the students here look so confused after the math prof's done with his lecture for the day."

Light recognized the small jibe for what it was- a desperate, pathetic attempt to change the subject from Jonathan's draft notice. Glad that Jonathan was willing to change the subject to a different one than the draft notice looming over their heads like a black cloud, Light forced a laugh and tossed his apple core away. He leaned back against the wooden table, his elbows propped behind him on the tabletop. "Yeah… poor guys. Though I don't think I'd do a much better job than the professor… I often explain things to fast or in terms others can't understand."

"Hm," Jonathan hummed, following Light's example and leaning back, a silence settling between them, the same thing weighing heavily on both their minds.

Light allowed his mind to wander as he watched the breeze blow some dead leaves through the air and across the sidewalk, watching people pass by, thinking about how weird it was that though this draft notice had changed Jonathan's life- and his, in a small way- things kept going on. No matter what happened, life would go on, and for some reason, Light felt a wave of sadness at that.

Even if Jonathan died in the war he was about to be shipped out to… Everything would go on. Perhaps not the same as it would have been if this hadn't happened, but it would go on, nonetheless. His friend's parents would continue to run their company, sadden by Jonathan's loss but able to find a replacement for the heir to their company. Even Light would go on mostly the same- mourning for his friend but going on to finish college and marry Misa, whom he cared for very deeply.

Life would go on, no matter what.

But Jonathan wouldn't.

"You have to tell your parents," Light suddenly said, the thought hitting him and he sat up, turning to face Jonathan, who was staring out at the city like Light had just been doing. "Your parents have to know."

"Yes," Jonathan nodded. "I was planning on telling them tonight. But I was wondering…" Jonathan trailed off, and Light raised a brow at him, silently urging him to continue.

After a moment of silent deliberation, Jonathan picked up once more, nervously telling Light, "I was hoping that you'd come with me, tonight. My parents like you, and you're very level-headed and charming. My parents won't react well to this- I'll probably be able to handle mother quite well, but father… I'm not so sure," Jonathon rushed out, gazing up hopefully at Light. "I know you dislike the formal dinners my parents have, but will you suffer it and help a friend out?"

Light paused, eyebrows raising, before he smiled a bit and nodded. "Of course," he told Jonathan. "I'll come."

_After all…_

_It might be the last thing I ever do for you._

* * *

After school, he waved a goodbye to Jonathan, knowing he'd be seeing him again later that night.

He turned away and headed down the street, taking his usual route back home, not really thinking about anything as he walked, occasionally dodging a person or vehicle as he made his way back home.

He smiled as he turned the corner to their house, walking down the sidewalk and pulling the door open, announcing his presence as he hung his satchel up, toeing off his shoes as he did so. Though he knew that he'd have to go and get changed right away in order to get ready for dinner at Jonathan's house- God, he was so not looking forwards to that- it was nice to be able to relax for a few moments.

However, the absence of his sister running out to greet him or his mother's welcoming smile made him frown. He paused in the doorway, in the middle of picking up his shoes to rearrange them neatly, thinking.

_Is there something going on I'm not aware of? No… something's off…_

Slowly, he finished setting his shoes aside, tentatively stepping into their small, yet cozy and welcoming house. Brows furrowing, Light repeated his call of being home and walked further into the room. Upon finding no one in the kitchen or dining room, he wandered into the hall leading to their living room, pausing to see if he could hear something.

A small, relieved smile broke over his face as he listened. He heard murmurings of voices- except that oddly, it was a deeper voice, almost like that of his father. His smile faded a bit as that sense of something being wrong pervaded him once more.

What was his father doing home? He should have been running the family's store…

Unable to shake that feeling of something being undeniably wrong, Light made his way into their family's living room, quietly sliding the door open and stepping through, closing it after himself. Inside, he saw his mother seated on the couch, Sayu next to her, and his father kneeling on floor in front of her, a distraught expression on his face.

The three collectively turned to Light as he stepped through, and this time, the feeling changed to a pure surety. Something was horribly wrong, and Light's heart clenched in worry.

"Light," his mother choked out, holding out her hand- it was trembling slightly, he noticed- and beckoning him closer. "There's something you need to know…"

Pancreatic cancer.

His mother… she had pancreatic cancer.

Apparently, his mother and father had known for several months now, but it was in its early stages, the chances of treating it looking positive. Sachiko and Soichiro hadn't told their children, not wanting to worry Sayu or Light. They had thought that Sachiko would get over it before long, and so there had been no reason to worry them needlessly.

But then, it had taken a turn for the worse, and the treatments became harsher and more taxing, even more costly as more radical methods were needed to combat the illness raging through Sachiko's body, consuming it.

Soichiro had been working longer hours and more days to come up with the money for Sachiko's treatments, and both parents had somehow kept this all under wraps and out of the knowledge of Light and Sayu.

But now, the money was running out, and they had to delve into Light's college fund to come up with the money to keep Sachiko alive. That money was almost used up, though, and through tears, Sachiko explained that Light wouldn't be able to stay in college- he would need to get a job, Soichiro explained, his demeanor stiff as he tried to come to terms with the life that was crumbling around them.

This war had taken a large toll on their family's food business- people, fearing the worst, were saving and hoarding their money, and the more patriotic people refused to buy any sort of food, preferring to grow it themselves and buy as little as possible.

It wouldn't have been so bad if this hadn't happened- the business would still be doing well and they would be making enough to keep paying for both Sachiko's treatments and Light's schooling.

But now…

Light understood, of course; how could he not? It was his mother's life on the line, and Light was more than willing to do what he had to do to keep her alive, even if it meant sacrificing his own tuition and future.

And then, when all was settled- Light would send in his withdrawment notice to the school tomorrow, and the day after that, they would go about finding him a job- he told his parents that he had to go and get dressed for a dinner at Jonathan's, smiling at his father, giving Sachiko a gentle hug, (because she was fragile now, so fragile because of the cancer) and patted Sayu on the head, much to her annoyance.

But she didn't protest too much. She needed the familiar action as much as Light did. That small action was somewhat grounding, and understanding ran mutually between them.

And then, he went up to his room and quietly closed the door before falling to his knees and staring at the floor blindly, feeling his life crumble to pieces around him.

* * *

Dinner at Jonathan's was never something to look forwards to, although Light, when the occasional rose, dealt with it because Jonathan was his friend, and how could he turn his friend's invitation down?

At 6 o'clock that evening, Light was knocking at Jonathan's door, hair neatly combed and freshly washed, dressed in a formal suit and standing patiently on the doorstep.

A minute later, there were footsteps and Jonathan's butler opened the door, greeting the familiar face of Light with a polite smile ushering him inside and taking his coat. They were somewhat old-fashioned people, and still maintained the strict social codes and niceties of those of the wealthier upper class.

He was shown to the dining room, where Jonathan and his family were just settling down into their seats. It was happy here, a warm setting even thought it was so very formal. Jonathan's parents obviously doted on their son, mother and father smiling as Jonathan regaled them with a humorous story of something that had happened in their Physics lecture earlier that day.

Throughout the course of dinner, it seemed as if Light was the only one who could sense the tenseness that was slowly building in the atmosphere. Maybe Jonathan could feel it as well, for as time passed, through course after course of delicious food, the student grew quieter and quieter.

Light wondered if that draft notice was the thing weighing Jonathan's shoulders down. They had become more hunched, as if the smaller student was trying to draw into himself.

And then, when the table cleared, the wine poured and a feeling of calmness settling comfortably over the room, that Jonathan chose to speak.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan spoke, his voice miraculously steady and unwavering.

"Mother. Father. I have news. I'm… I've received a draft notice. I'm going to war."

* * *

Light watched, as if from a distance, as Jonathan's mother's face trembled, before slowly dissolving into an expression of hopelessness, of wretched distraught as she realized her son was going off to the war in Europe. It was the very war that everyone talked of in hushed whispered, rumors of its deadliness trembling on every person's lips.

Then, he saw Jonathan's father stiffen, his hands gripping tightly around the stem of his wine glass, threatening to snap the fragile, crystalline glass. They were shaking, Light observed. He would not want to break down in front of his family and son, Light knew. As the pillar, the head of their small family, he would have to stay strong.

But even Light could tell that he was going to snap before the glass stem did. And when he did, what he said, hurtful accusations and blind rantings might hurt Jonathan more than a bullet could.

It was time to intervene. It was the reason Jonathan had wanted him here, after all.

Light glanced over to Jonathan, catching his eye as his friend got up to comfort his mother. He nodded slightly, indicating that Light should go and try to talk some sense into his father before something happened.

Getting up, Light walked calmly around the table to the man's side, watching for any signs that he was about to snap horribly somehow.

As the stem of the delicate wineglass seemed about to snap.

Deciding to save the lovely glass and use it as an excuse to request an audience with his friend's father, Light slid his chair backwards quietly. He got up quietly and made his way discreetly over to the solid man who was breathing heavily at the head of the table, waving away the butler that came to see what was wrong.

He reached Jonathan's father and leaned down, inclining his head while simultaneously wrapping his fingers gently around the top of the abused glass.

As he took the wine glass from Jonathan's father, the delicate crystal caught the light, calling attention to its fine quality. Through it, though distorted, Light could see Jonathan and his mother, the boy desperately trying to comfort and reassure the distraught woman.

For a brief moment, Light imagined what it would be like if he were to be replaced with Jonathan, and he almost stopped short as he saw with crystal-clear clarity, another option open to them. It was so simple, so clear, and yet so mercenary that Light wanted to cringe at the thought. But it would cut less than the glass that would break in his friend's father's hands if Light simply allowed events to play out as they were on the course to.

Swallowing, Light leaned down to speak in Jonathan's father's ear. His own hands were trembling now, as the idea cut through his brain, sinking insidiously in and forcing the flow of words that were on the brink of Light's lips to change course and flow in a different direction. "Sir," he whispered. "I'd like to talk to you privately in the drawing room, if that would be possible."

The burly man froze, and then his pale blue eyes flicked up to Light's. They searched his own for a brief second, no doubt noting the utter seriousness and resignation Light was sure was present in them. Light could see the own turbulent emotions roiling within the stately man's eyes- despair, grief, anger, resignation, and unsurprisingly, curiosity, no doubt at Light's request and what he saw in the student's own amber depths.

He looked as if he were about to protest for a moment, but then he paused, curiosity obviously winning out over his desire to remain in the dining room. He took the out that Light was giving him, the chance to compose himself and get a handle on his emotions before he said or did something in rash anger that he might regret. It would also allow him to satisfy his curiosity over what Light had to say.

Nodding tightly, the man relinquished his grip on the glass, which Light smoothly and unobtrusively set aside as he stepped out of the way. Pushing his chair back, Jonathan's father stood up and started out of the room, not excusing his leave or calling attention to his departure at all. Light followed silently after him, throwing a glance over his shoulder to see Jonathan cradling his sobbing mother in his arms.

_Will that be me?_ Light wondered, turning away and closing his eyes at the utterly heartbreaking look on Jonathan's face.

He would die in the war; they all knew it.

Light knew it.

It was the horrible fact that he had desperately trying to ignore, ever since he saw the words "draft notice" printed on that damning slip of paper. But now, with his plan churning, cutting through his mind and rearranging it, he could not deny that. He had to accept it, in order to put his own offer on the table and have it accepted.

Jonathan was not strong enough to survive in a place where nothing but strength of the mind, of the body and the _will_ mattered.

Once Jonathan left, there would be no return for him, and that knowledge was what made the revelation so distressing and hopeless.

He sincerely hoped that would not be the case once he had to break the news to Sachiko.

He turned his attention back to the man in front of him walk-in stiffly down the plushly carpeted halls of Jonathan's home. He eventually stopped in front of a dark, wooden, polished door, opening it and allowing Light inside.

The clicking of the door handle after him as Light's father followed him in and closed the door felt almost like a death sentence- and in a way, Light supposed it was, now.

There was no going back from this. Once he put his offer on the table- and his friend's father would take it, of that he was certain- it was done. His fate, for the better or worse, was sealed.

"Sir," Light started without any preamble, turning to face Jonathan's father. "Jonathan had asked me to take you somewhere to talk sense into you after he broke the news to you tonight. It was the exact reason he asked me to dinner tonight. As his friend, I couldn't not say yes. But I have no interest in calming you- instead, I have an offer to make."

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as Jonathan's father ground out, "What is this offer?"

Light said nothing for a moment, simply walking silently over to the ebony desk and running a hand over one of the smooth handles of the chairs next to it. His mind churned, and he felt a sort of tight tension within his stomach as he thought about the best way to voice the offer that would damn himself. "…Jonathan will die if he goes to war," Light finally murmured, closing his eyes as he felt the knot grow tighter, threatening to make him retch.

It took all he had to not turn around, look the man in the eye, and say that he had changed his mind- _it was a stupid idea, nevermind. Would you like me to call for some brandy while you compose yourself?_

But, Light was not so weak-willed. Instead, he forced himself to get a grip on himself, clutching at the armrest of the chair as he gritted out the words that he needed to say. In hindsight, he would be proud of the absolute composure he had, of the level tone of voice that his words were spoken with, but this was not the time for appreciation. He saw it only as the words that would sign his life away, allowing Jonathan to continue while his own life was thrown to hell.

"It's obvious that he lacks the strength to survive in such harsh, demanding conditions," Light explained slowly. Worried that if he were to clench the armrests of the chair any more tightly they would have gouges ripped into them, he forcibly removed them and instead clasped his hands behind his back. With feigned calmness, his eyes rose to meet the man's blue eyes.

Something within them must have stopped Jonathan's father's suspicion short, for he stood silently taking in Light for a moment. And then, as if sensing the utter seriousness of the situation, he simply asked, "What sort of offer is this?"

"Hold on," Light said calmly, though there was a pleading note to his voice that made him curse himself. It would not do to show any sort of weakness- he had to be resolute, or he wouldn't be able to go through with this. He could feel the cracks already, the nearly overwhelming urge to take all of his words back, reverse time to the moment he had first uttered those words and _just not speak them_. "Just let me explain. Jonathan is my friend- it breaks my heart as well to see this happen."

_…Father had wanted me to get a job, hadn't he? Well, this could constitute as one…_

Jonathan's father remained silent, wordlessly urging Light to go on.

"I'm offering…" Light paused-_ No, no, no please stop me please don't let me say this oh God no no no-_ took a breath to steady himself, then just tried to rush out what he wanted to say, not really having the right words to _say_ it with. "My mother is very sick, and we've run out of money to pay for her treatments. I'll… I'll go to war in your son's place, take his draft notice and go to war for him if you anonymously pay for my mother's treatments and family's welfare," Light blurted out, wanting to get his offer out there and unable to take back before he could rethink it and back out.

_That's not what I wanted to say I didn't mean it no please don't take it seriously-_

Jonathan's father blinked, taken aback. Then, he recovered himself and leaned forward, an intense, hopeful look on his face. "You'd be willing to do this? Go to war- with a very good possibility of not making it back- in Jonathan's pace if I take care of your mother's treatments and your family?"

_No no no I didn't- No I don't-_

"Yes, sir." Light nodded, feeling a mixture of relief for having gotten his offer in the air, yet horror at what, exactly, he was offering to _do._ "That's exactly what I'm offering. But it's not just for my mother- I have a better chance of coming back from this than Jonathan does, and I think we both know that. But, I don't want my parents to know- I saw how your wife reacted to the news, and I refuse to do that to my own mother in the condition she's in right now. He leaves in two days, correct? I'll leave a note saying that I wished to join the war effort and left to sign up and get shipped out."

Jonathan's father relaxed back, and Light knew, with a feeling of sinking, utter despair that he had decided to take Light's offer. But it was what he had wanted, right?

_No pleased I'm begging you take it back I can't do this-_

"What of Jonathan? There is no way that he'll accept this."

Light nodded thoughtfully, congratulating himself for being able to pull this off so well. No cracks in his façade, it would seem.

Only inside, where he was screaming in denial.

"No, you're right. Don't tell him- lock him in his room tomorrow night, so he can't leave the morning before. I'll stop by and get the draft notice then. It will work out for everyone- you and your wife get your son, Jonathan gets his life, my mother gets to live, and my family gets my mother."

"Everyone but you. You could die, Light. That's not a happy ending for you."

Light just shrugged at that.

_No, no, no! What the hell are you doing?! TakeitbackTakeitback!-_

At the moment, he couldn't care less. He knew his mind was screaming denials at him, knew Jonathan's father was looking at him as if he were crazy, but Light felt nothing.

He had just signed his soul away, and at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. A numbness was settling over him, and he was oblivious to everything but the man in front of him. He felt… if he were to think of anything else, of his family or his friend or his life that had just shattered into a million sharp pieces, each shard reflecting what could have been and cutting him with things that would never be, he would crumble.

_And where would the world be if Light crumbled? It would be rather dark, wouldn't it?_

Though Light's mind was screaming at him not to do this, because he didn't want to go and fight in Europe, not for anyone or anything, he simply said, "If I die, then it is what it is, sir. Do we have a deal?"

This was no time for second thoughts- he wished that Jonathan's father wouldn't protest, wouldn't allow Light an out, because at this moment, he would take it, cling to it like a lifeline, and if things were to be alright for Jonathan and his family, he had to let go. He had to take the plunge, and if someone threw him a lifesaver, he'd take it without second thought, rather than rejecting it as he needed to.

He had to go through with this, before he tried to back out of it like his sense of self-preservation and mind was screaming at him for to do.

If he went to Europe, there was a good chance that he'd never come back.

_Pleasedon't nonono I don't want to do this-!_

A relieved smile settled over the man's face and he held out a large hand, proffering it to Light. "Yes. We've a deal. Shall we shake on it?" Without waiting for Light to move, Jonathan's father simply grasped Light's hand and shook it gladly, utter relief settling over his face at the thought that his son would be spared.

Light only blinked as he felt his hand being shaken by Jonathan's father, the whole situation seeing a bit surreal, as if he wasn't really here.

He was going off to war.

_I guess… in the end, I do get to know what Jonathan was feeling when he got his draft notice._

_Funny how things work out, isn't it?_

_This blind panic, this feeling of surrealness…_

_Was this what he felt?_

_…Oh, God. _

_What have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

* * *

There was a sense of surrealism to this whole thing.

It was just…

He couldn't think, not now. He could only act, and even then, he felt numb, as if it were not him controlling his body. It was some horrible mockery of Light Yagami, some puppet being controlled and yanked around by strings that were not under his control.

It was not him that rose the next morning and quietly dressed, stealthily slipping around his room and packing what few items he would need. It surely couldn't have been him that wrote down a brief farewell note, leaving what little personal cash he had for his family, though he knew they would be well taken care of long after he was gone.

It was why he was doing this, after all.

It was that horrid, niggling thought that taunted him, making him perfectly aware of the fact that this _was_ him, that this wasn't a dream that he could wake up from with a harsh pinch of his fingers. It was a nightmare that was quickly and horribly becoming his reality.

His fingers shook as he placed a paperweight lying on the desk on top of the paper to prevent any stray gusts of wind from stealing it away, as well as a note for Misa that he had penned late last night, bidding her farewell. He knew that she would get it- his parents would make sure of that.

Then, he slowly straightened and took out a two rings from his pocket. One was small and silver; the other was gold and had his school's crest on it. The silver one had been the ring he was going to give Misa when he asked her to marry him- which was going to be soon, as soon as Light graduated. The other was the ring his parents had bought for him, a proud display that their son was a student at Colombia University.

With slightly shaking hands, he set them gently on top of the two pieces of paper, hesitating for a moment before he withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist.

_Is this the only thing that I'll leave behind?_

_Is this the last thing they'll remember about me…?_

Slowly, Light raised his head to look up, giving the room a last look, remembering everything that had taken place in here. It was full of warm memories, of his mother cooking their meals with love and care, of chasing Sayu around when they were both little, only to receive a tender scolding from their mother as she shooed them out with some sort of treat, and the smell of his father's hot green tea brewing every morning.

Closing his eyes, Light forced himself to turn away, almost stumbling out of the kitchen and to the front door. He slipped his shoes on with haste, before the panic and shock that was welling within his heart made him turn back around and run back to his room, burrow under the covers and tell himself that this was all just a bad dream-

_No, I don't want to do this. I can't… This… No…_

But Light had never been weak. He had never allowed himself to be weak.

He had never been able to turn down a duty-

And it was with this thought in his mind that he finished tying his shoes, straightened, and slipped out the door, closing it quietly and leaving behind his home, his warm memories, and everything that was familiar and safe.

* * *

It was still somewhat dark out, as the sun was just barely peeping over the rise of the buildings, both old and new, that made up the New York cityscape. The sunrise that morning was a golden, bloody red, a horrid reminder of where he was inevitably heading to. Every step he took only drew him closer, and unable to stomach the sight of the crimson color, Light closed his eyes, allowing memory to work in his favor as he tread the familiar path from his house to Jonathan's.

His wandering ways took him past the street where Misa was, and he paused in front of it momentarily, amber eyes staring blankly down the quiet street. Every fiber of him knew a deep longing to go and see the girl that he had come to care for so deeply. His hand reached into his right pocket to fiddle with the silver ring that he would soon be presenting as a declaration of his intent to marry her, before his fingers met with only fabric and he remembered that he had left it behind.

His eyes slipped shut and his fists clenched within his pockets as at that moment, his heart and mind battled over his desires- to go home as he wanted to, or to finish what he had put into motion. To go and see Misa one last time, to kiss her and revel in the feel of holding her small, warm body close, or leave her in blissful ignorance until she discovered he was gone…

His eyelids trembled with the intensity of his longings, before they snapped open and he let out a shuddering breath. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to turn away, to leave that street behind and keep forcing his feet to rise and fall, rise and fall as they carried him towards Jonathan's house.

Light made his way down the still mostly-abandoned streets, amber eyes gazing over the buildings that he had come to know so well. His feet thudded upon the sidewalk, and he could almost imagine the sound of a thousand other feet marching with him as he walked almost mechanically towards his destination.

It took less time than he thought, or perhaps, it was that odd warping of time, having it speed up when you were dreading something and seemed to deliver you to your final, feared destination that much faster. Whatever it was, it seemed that naught but a minute had passed before he was standing at the front door of Jonathan's home.

Taking a deep breath, Light raised his hand to grasp the knocker and rap it gently against the door- no doubt, Jonathan's father would have been expecting him.

The door opened as soon as Light stepped away, only proving his suspicions. His eyes were wide as the large form of Jonathan's father quickly stepped out into the open, a coat clutched round his shoulders to ward off the chill. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, then turned to Light.

There was, on Jonathan's father's face, an expression of both relief and reluctance- and Light didn't know which one sickened his stomach more- relief that his son was not going to war, or the reluctance to take the chance Light was offering him with nothing but relief. That slight hesitance should not have been there- the man should have been grasping at this chance like a lifeline, not seeming to second-guess it as his expression suggested.

He knew the man had never been one for small talk, something Light had always appreciated, and especially more now. He didn't know if he'd be able to deal with trivial pleasantries, not now. Not like this.

Letting out a deep breath, Light asked, "Sir. The notice?"

The man blinked, before he shook his head and nodded. "Yes," he confirmed as he reached into his pocket. There was the sound of paper rustling, and then he drew out the piece of paper that Jonathan had shown him just the last afternoon. He regarded it blankly, mind taking him back to when Jonathan had shoved it into his face for further perusal.

He had taken the draft notice from Jonathan willingly yesterday-_was it really only yesterday?_- but now… now it was being offered to him, once more…

Just as it had been handed to Jonathan, it was now being offered to him.

That their positions were now reversed only was a horrible, dreadful irony.

The draft notice was proffered to him, and he could only look at it blankly, knowing that the moment he took it, there was no way to change the course he had suddenly been set upon. The black words were barely visible from the way it drooped, deceptively harmlessly, in the man's large hand.

And for a moment, Light marveled that two little words on a piece of paper had such a profound effect on his life. Light hesitantly reached out to take a hold of it, resisting the urge to turn and run, _to get the hell away I don't want this goddamnit!_

Steadying himself with a shaky breath, he snatched it out of the man's hands, feeling an undeniable knot forming in his stomach, threatening to rise to his throat. The paper felt as if it was burning in his fingers, feeling that damming slip of paper and Light, unable to bear touching such a revolting thing any longer, quickly stuffed it into his pocket.

He then raised his head, meeting the man's eyes for the first time that morning. Reading the silent question within Light's amber eyes, the man cleared his throat and told Light, "The first payment will be deposited into your parent's account at the bank this morning. I am assuming all payments for your mother's treatment are withdrawn automatically- I will be very discreet, so have no fear that they will know of our arrangement."

That was all that was left. His parents would be alright- though Light, everyone, knew that pancreatic cancer was a terminal illness with no cure. Other forms of cancer had had reports of being cured, through one fashion or the other, but never the cancer his mother suffered from. But he could ignore that, couldn't he? They all could- if only for the vain hope that some sort of miracle would take place and Sachiko would be alright.

Either way, by doing this, Light knew that he was giving her more time, another chance. He had done what he could.

But now…

There was nothing else.

Nothing else but to carry out the promise that he had made. There was no running now, no matter how much Light wanted to get out of this. The time for that had long come and long gone, and he had chosen to accept the draft notice that he could feel almost burning a hole in his pocket.

Teeth gritting against all the words he wanted to say, the denials that threatened to spew forth, Light turned without another word and made to leave, not bothering to say farewell. He didn't know… if he had to say goodbye now…

He might break.

"Light."

At the bottom of the steps, Light froze at the sound of his name, draft notice clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes squeezed shut against the burning sensation that had suddenly overtaken them. Here, at this moment, just about to leave…

It struck him, then, that Jonathan would have been here. This very moment, his friend would be in his spot, and Light… Light would be asleep, mourning for his friend's departure but still home and safe, not going to war. It would be Jonathan here, saying farewell…

And for a moment, a flash of hatred for his friend went through his being as the draft notice in his hand crinkled, his hand clenching tightly at the thought.

Jonathan's father still remained at the door, silent, waiting for Light to turn, to talk, to do something else other than just freeze to acknowledge that he had been heard.

_Please don't stop me don't say anything I don't think I could stand it just let me go before-_

"Yes?" Light murmured after a moment, swallowing tightly. He couldn't look, couldn't move. Had no desire to, only felt the need to keep walking, to keep going before the gear in his back that kept him mechanically going wound down, forcing him to a halt before someone wound it back up for him.

He knew that Jonathan's father wanted him to turn around, to meet his eyes. But he remained frozen, afraid that if he moved in any way, he would crack and crumble, like the fragile, porcelain china dolls that Misa adored collecting.

_Let me go before I break. Let me have that._

There was a heavy, strained silence, as Light stood on the front steps, feeling the brisk autumn air's chill seep into his bones. It chilled him to the core, rendered him numb, incapable of anything but the near-mechanical beat of his heart thudding in his ears. It was almost as if it had recognized where he was going and was making him conscious of its presence, as if it were saying, _here's the evidence that you are alive._

In a way, it was like a clock, ticking down the time that he remained here, in New York, on earth, alive. It was counting down his life's remaining time, an unending countdown that would remain until he drew his last breath.

The thudding that resounded in Light's ears masked the heavy footsteps that drew closer, until Light felt a large hand rest lightly on his shoulder. It jarred him, shook him, though he was sure that no sign showed outwardly.

"Good luck, Light."

The words, so softly said in the man's deep voice, laced with a caring and concern that was so like his own parent's threatened to make him shatter, more so than anything else yet. It reminded him that that sort of care was something he'd leave long behind, out of place in the war-ravaged land he was being sent to.

It filled him with a wave of longing that he quickly and effectively tamped down, before that wave threatened to overflow and break the dam of himself that he had been desperately holding together. He inclined his head ever so slightly to acknowledge the man's words, and then, before anything else could be said or done, he stumbled away, leaving Jonathan's father and his friend far behind.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Light paused in the middle of the New York Harbor, where there was a line of young men, in the same uniform he had been issued at the draft office getting ushered through a break in a metal fence. He paused for a moment, contemplating what he should do, before he simply stepped into line behind a few other men.

He was glad that the uniform had been given to him before coming here. After leaving Jonathan's house, he had went straight to the draft office, where the instructions on the back of the notice said to go for his uniform and gear to be issued. They had not asked for names, simply taken one look at the draft notice Light had pulled out of his pocket and shown them, and a scant hour later, he was outfitted in the United States' army uniform, along with the standard pack with basic necessities that were issued to all recruits.

After that, he had been told to go to the docks for processing and boarding- the first wave, which Light was part of, was being shipped out that morning.

He had nodded numbly to that, barely feeling the weight of the pack upon his shoulders, the tight leather of the new boots upon his feet, the helmet strapped to his pack that was bumping against the side of his thigh with every step, or the rough cotton of the strange uniform that now adorned his body. For once, he paid no mind, took no pride in how he appeared- such trivial things were pushed far to the back of his mind.

The line moved slowly, but it seemed fast for Light, whose very heart and mind were rebelling against this. Every step he took towards that ship was a step further away from his home, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run away, anywhere but here. But that was impossible now, and as if in a dream, he looked up, eyes wandering over the towering ships that were docked in the harbor.

He could see the crowds of other soldiers decked in the same uniform as he, lining up to have their names taken and get onto one of the other three battleships docked in the area. He marveled at how many people war truly required- and was also sickened at the thought that many of these men would most likely not be returning on these ships the way they went- alive.

A sudden sharp pain in his side made Light snap to attention as he was jostled from behind. He looked up, seeing that a soldier with a clipboard was waiting, gesturing impatiently at him with boredom and annoyance written his blonde-scruffed face.

Heart so high in his throat that he worried it would choke him, Light exhaled slowly in an effort to still his fluttering heart.

_There's no going back God why can't I go back and run away from this- no, no, no, Light you can't do this because-_

Shaking off his thoughts, for now was not a good time to succumb to the panic welling within his heart, Light forced out his own version of the words that he had heard the drafted soldier in front of him utter. He was glad for the direction, in this instant, because if he had not known what to say, he would have stood there like a sheep who knew not what to do.

"Light Yagami reporting," he choked out, with only the slightest, almost indistinct waver in his voice.

The soldier nodded and held out his hand impatiently, flexing his fingers, even as his eyes remained firmly upon the sheet of paper with names of the drafted soldiers upon it. "Draft notice?"

Silently, Light handed the slip of paper to the awaiting soldier. Snatching it from Light's slightly-shaking hands, his dark green eyes flicked over it, turning it over once before nodding sharply. He raised the clip on the board and slipped the piece of paper under it. Light could see that there were also many other identical slips of paper under it as well- his simply got carelessly lost among many others.

The soldier then snapped the clip back down and running a finger along the paper, he muttered Light's last name, obviously searching for "Yagami."

Light experienced a moment of panic as he realized that the soldier would be finding no evidence of that name. Would he be exposed as an imposter?

But Light didn't have time to panic long as the solider, his dark blonde brows furrowing, flipped the paper to the other side, scanning through the names there. Obviously confused now, he repeated the motion, going back to the front page, and then flipping to the back in succession.

After a moment, he looked up, eyes narrowed in a blend of suspicion and confusion."…Hold on," the soldier said gruffly. "No one by the name of Light Yagami was ever issued a draft notice."

Swallowing, Light forced a look of bewilderment onto his face. Panic flashed through him, thrumming in his veins, but he tamped it down, reigning his control in and holding onto it with a steely, if not slightly shaky hand. "I'm sure that there must be a mistake, then," Light replied with self-assuredness. He tried his hardest to sound confident, as if he was not here in another's place, as if he had been the one to have been issued that draft notice.

The soldier's expression bled to one of unsurely, and he flicked his eyes down to the sheet, and then Light before he shook his head decisively. "I'm sure there wasn't. Stay here." The soldier gestured with a hand for Light to stay, already turning to scan the area for a senior officer to ask as to what he should do.

And Light knew that if he managed to find a senior officer, this façade would all be over- and he could not allow that to happen. The officer could pull Light aside, check his records and confirm that he was never chosen in the draft. He would be exposed as a fraud, and while Light knew that going to war in someone else's place was a crime, he had no clue how severe. Still, he could be assured that nothing good would come for either him or Jonathan, or their families, for that matter, if they found out that he was here in Jonathan's place.

That thought made his fingers twitch in apprehension and urged him to speak up, to distract the soldier from his search and buy him some time, to stall while he thought of a way to force the soldier to let him through and take no more notice.

"That's not really necessary, is it?" Light asked, the sound of his voice successfully regaining the soldier's attention as dark green eyes landed on his face. He fought to keep the desperation out of his voice as he earnestly asked, "Do you think I'm willingly here? How else would I have gotten a draft notice?"

"I don't know…." The soldier looked down at the sheet of drafted soldiers, brows furrowing in consternation. It was obvious that he was torn between asking a superior what to do and risk getting scolded for wasting time, or simply letting Light through and chance getting taken to fault for a mistake.

However, Light needed to get through- his family and friend's life depended on him getting onto that ship in Jonathan's place successfully.

"Look," Light said cajolingly, gaining the soldier's attention once more. "Just let me through, alright? I'm certain no one's watching who's coming in too closely- just those that are leaving and those who have yet to come. Even if I wasn't supposed to be here, do you think the Army would protest one more soldier?" Light said in an attempt to be persuasive. His mother as well as Misa had always said he had a way with words and people, and right now, Light prayed that they were right.

It seemed like this time around, luck was in his favor. The soldier sighed and pinched the bride of his nose between two fingers, waving Light ahead with the other.. "…I suppose not," the soldier said, peering down at his clipboard with the names listed. "Right, then. Carry on."

The pressure of getting the rest of the drafted soldiers checked and onto the ship must have been great, for the soldier to disregard the possible repercussions. And for this, Light was grateful.

"Thank you," Light nodded. Heart leaping so high in his throat that he felt as if he were about to choke- _but if I choke I can't go to war and is that a good or bad thing I don't know if I can do this but goddamn I have to and there's nothing I can do-_ he turned away and made to take that first damning step through the break in the iron fencing.

However, he was halted by a gloved hand clasping his elbow, effectively halting him in his tracks. Turning, Light fought to keep the flash of panic that had suddenly overtaken him as he heard the soldier who had taken his name down say, "Wait."

Forcing a calm note that he certainly did not feel into his voice, Light quirked a brow and gave a, "Hm?"

_What's wrong I pulled it off perfectly no no no let me go through goddamnit-_

"Who?"

This was asked with a certain note in the soldier's voice, accompanied by an understanding glint in his dark green eyes. This understanding sent a certain shock through Light, before he recovered himself and inclined his head to show that he knew what the soldier was asking.

"…Jonathan Anson," Light whispered.

The soldier's eyes scrutinized Light's face, seeing the sincere look of regret and reassignment on his forcibly held-together face, before he withdrew his hand, turning away. "Very good, soldier," he murmured. "Continue on."

Swallowing harshly, Light forced himself to turn around and continue, but not before tilting his head back for a second glance. He saw the soldier pulling a roll of white tape out of his pocket, ripping off a piece and sticking it onto the paper.

That was all he saw before he was jabbed harshly in the back, with a grunt of, "Yer holdin' up the line, mate."

Composing himself, Light shook his head and continued on, following the other newly-drafted soldiers to a small building set up near the battleship which, Light knew with a sinking sense of certainty, that they would shortly be boarding.

He kept moving forwards slowly as he took in the gleaming iron of the ship, eyes flicking over the crates of blood, prosthetics, spare uniforms and boots, food, ammunition and weapons that were being loaded onto the ship.

But even so, his mind kept replaying the scene of the soldier ripping off that piece of tape and placing it onto a spot near the top, where, as an "A," Jonathan's name surely would have been.

When the secretaries were copying down the records of today, making brand-new, pristine records of the men shipped off on this day and this certain ship, they wouldn't even think twice about seeing a blot of white-out tape and a new name. Not all men who became soldiers had had a chance for higher education, and it was why secretaries were needed- to create accurate, perfect records for the military files.

They wouldn't assume that there had been an illegal change in the draft. They would simply assume that there had been a spelling error with one of the soldier's names and it had been fixed before the record was sent in to be re-typed.

No one would know that Light Yagami was here in Jonathan Anson's place.

It was as if Jonathan had never been drafted.

* * *

Light paused just a moment at the beginning of the ramp leading up to the large, ironclad warship. There was something that made him turn his head and look back, amber eyes flicking over the horizon. He saw the towering skyscrapers and the iron skeletons of buildings that were under construction. He saw the distant, small dots of automobiles puttering down the shoddy roads of the dock, saw deckhands loading crates onto ships and the general hustle and bustle of a just-awakening New York City.

He smelt the brine and general fishy, foul odor of the harbor, inhaling deeply. He felt the smoggy-tinted air brushing over his cheeks and threading into his hair, lacing it with the dirty smell of New York City.

It smelled like home, like everything he had known. He had complained of the dirtiness before, but now, he wished nothing more than to never leave the city, with everything it came with, for the better or worse, behind. It made a swell of longing rise within his chest, and he savored the smell of the city, the chilled breeze that cut through him, and the feel of the city that was unmistakably home.

He did this, packing away the memory and holding tight to it within his mind, because-

_This might be the last time I ever feel this._

An undefinable emotion welled within his heart at that thought, longing traced with sadness that threatened the return of the burning of unshed tears in the corner of his eyes.

Turning before the threat became reality, Light closed his eyes and took that first, damning step onto the ramp leading up to the deck of the ship, swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat, threatening to choke him. His eyes burned, and though he told himself harshly it was simply the smog that forever surrounded New York City, it was futile to say otherwise.

But he had always considered it a shame for someone such as him to cry. It was a lapse in control, a sign of a lack of manliness and so he held it in, even as the thought that this might be his last time in New York, in seeing the landscape that had been his home since he was born threatened to warp the burn into tears.

But Light had always prided himself on his excellent control and so he fought it back, turning away, even as a last, lingering thought remained, no matter how much his screaming, writhing mind longed to bat it away. It stayed with him as he was crowded onto the deck. It remained as, if in a daze, he watched the last of the soldiers file in, and it refused to be banished as the lines tethering and anchoring the ship to the docks were cast away, the anchor raised and the great engine of the battleship began to groan.

And it was only as the ship, with a great groan, pulled away from the dock, that Light allowed his eyes to close and the thought to fully come out- for there was no more chance for it to break the last threads of his willpower and run home, to his house, to his friends, where all was warm and familiar and _safe._

It was with dazed, almost confused eyes that Light Yagami looked upon the cityscape of New York, growing smaller with each knot gained and each passing minute, and finally allowed the thought to surface.

_…I might never come back._

* * *

"Hello!"

The greeting, said in a bright, cheery voice, spoken in familiar _Japanese_, of all things, made Light jerk his head up, eyes wide. The sun was right in his eyes, making him narrow them into illuminated slivers. The spot he had eventually taken up on the deck, among the crates of newly-made, American supplies was a sunny one. Sitting here in the sunlight was an attempt to ward off the chill that he couldn't seem to shake off, no matter how warm the sun was on his skin, soaking into his uniform.

The warm position, however, also put the sunlight right into his eyes, nearly blinding him as he blinked, attempting to focus his gaze upon the person that had approached him. Spots danced in front of his eyes, but as they faded, Light could see a man, about his height. He had short black hair, though it was cut stylishly, and his almond-shaped brown eyes were brown and very warm and inviting. He was smiling, and straight white teeth gleamed healthily against naturally tan skin.

"I'm Matsuda Touta!" The newly-introduced Matsuda said brightly, eyes sparkling with goodwill. Light thought it seemed off, given the setting that they were in, but he wasn't going to complain, not one bit. It was such a welcoming sight, those warm eyes, that suddenly, the ship that they were on did not seem so dark and gloomy, and the fear weighing him down seeming to lessen a little bit.

However, Light said absolutely nothing in response to the man's words, still somewhat shocked by the sight of a fellow Japanese countryman. It was as good as a godsend in his eyes, someone that was somewhat familiar in tongue and mannerisms, if not in person itself.

Matsuda's eyebrows raised at Light's continued silence, his smile wavering as uncertainty overtook him. Light was still staring at him blankly, and there was no way that he could have known that Light was simply shocked by his appearance. He mistook it as lack of understanding, and fearing that he had made a mistake, Matsuda dropped his hand, instead using it to scratch the back of his head as he said uncertainly, "Oh, I'm sorry… are you not…"

Matsuda cocked his head, narrowing his eyes to regard Light carefully. He certainly looked Japanese… the coloring was odd, but his features were certainly Asian, at least. He didn't think that the boy he had approached was Chinese… unless he had not been taught the tongue…

His English was not very good, and he couldn't think of how to say the words needed in English. Wracking his mind, Matsuda finally, in very accented English, pieced together a question. It was not exactly what he wanted to say, but it conveyed the meaning almost as well.

"Are you not Japanese?" Mastuda asked, and the words served to snap Light out of his stupor.

Realizing that he had almost made a horrid blunder and risked driving the man away, Light blinked, hastily shaking his head. In Japanese, he quickly said, "No, no! I am, it's just…"

He gave a rueful smile, pleased to see that relief and good cheer had once more graced Matsuda's face. "It's been awhile since I've heard anyone other than my family speak Japanese. It was a bit of a shock," Light told him as explanation for his behavior. As he spoke, he leant down to pick up the heavy pack he had slipped off of his shoulders, scooting over a bit on the crate he had been perched upon. It left an empty space on the crate next to him, a silent invitation for Matsuda to sit next to him.

The man did with a grateful smile, setting his army-issued pack down with a near-painful "thump." Light winced in sympathy, knowing how heavy the packs were. It was almost ridiculous, but then again, he figured that carrying practically one's whole lifeline on their backs was not going to be a light burden by any means.

But Matsuda seemed to more than appreciate the gesture, and he gave off a feel of companionability as he settled onto the crate. He leant back against the one stacked right behind him and stretching out his long legs to make himself more comfortable. Rubbing the back of his neck, Matsuda glanced at Light out of the corner of his eyes, assessing him. Light allowed this scrutiny, bearing it until Matsuda rolled his shoulders, tilted his head to the side, and asked, "What is your name?"

Light sat forwards, pulling up his heavily-boot clad feet up on the crate, settling his arms on his knees and chin on his forearms. It was a comfortable position, and amicably, Light replied, savoring the feel of the Japanese language on his tongue, "I'm Light."

He ignored the raised eyebrow and incredulous look he got from his newfound companion, wincing a bit as he realized how his name sounded sans surname.

It always sounded a bit ridiculous. Simply Light. Ha.

_Lightbulb, sunshine, ray of light, everyone who always thought they were so funny with their puns._

_Wonder if they know.._

_Well…_

_This light's probably going to flicker and go out soon._

Smiling ruefully, he leaned his head back, tilting it to look at Matsuda as he clarified, "Light Yagami."

"Ah." Nodding, Matsuda leaned forwards, propping an elbow upon his knee and chin in hand. He regarded Light with a scrutinous look, before he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, "You must be a very bright boy."

The teasing did not bother Light a bit; in fact, it caused an almost unquellable urge to laugh within him. It bubbled up in his chest, right on the verge of bursting into full laughter. But, he tamped it down, only chuckling a bit as he shifted to free a hand, gesturing at their situation, of uniformed men milling about the ironclad warship, headed off to fight perhaps one of the bloodiest wars to that date.

"…Actually, this Light is probably a bit more on the dim side for signing up to do this," Light returned, reaching up to tap his temple. His voice held a note of forced cheer to it, both at the horrible play on his name and for the true dismalness of the situation.

_No sane man would sign up for this. No sane man would offer to go to war as I have. _

_But then…what does that say about me?_

As if realizing the utter irony of the situation and words, Matsuda gave a rueful little smile. He leaned back, shaking his head in dark humor. "Truer words have never been spoken, Lightbulb."

And though Light hated the puns and plays that could be done on his name, rather than bristling at the teasing, he instead offered a small smile at the companionable man that had taken up a seat next to him.

And when Matsuda offered one back, Light fell silent, simply savoring the fact that he had found a compatriot. It was nice, to have something familiar, even if it was only that ethnicity, to latch onto.

He shifted to rest his back on the crate, crossing his arms lazily over his stomach and propping his feet up. There was a certain sense of laziness in the air, as if at that moment, they were not going off to war, as if the peaceful idyllicness of the situation would simply remain forever.

…Light sort of wanted to freeze this moment, to be able to keep it with him as a memory to help keep his heart warm during the dismal times. However, it was just a fleeting fancy, a stray thought that he knew was ridiculous, and so he dismissed it with the faintest strain of remorse and longing.

Instead, he leant his head back, breathing out deeply in a calming sigh, and then breathing in once more. He felt his lungs expand, could taste and smell the salt of the ocean air on his lips and in his nose, feel the sunlight warming his cheeks that were chilled from the damp air.

Just for the moment, the numb chill dissipated, driven away by the sun on his cheeks and cheerful presence of the man at his side.

His mind wandered idly as his eyes slipped shut, simply taking in the brief moment of peace and break from the unsurety and fear that had been eating at him constantly.

…If he really were a candle, he'd most likely long be snuffed out, either from the dampness of the air or the spray that occasionally washed up against the railing of the ship. The sea was a dangerous place for a light to be, especially one whose destination was in the midst of war. This light might just be snuffed out before it ever returned back to where it had been originally lit.

_But… if I can burn a little bit longer, just a while longer… I think… that would be alright._

_…I'll take whatever I can get. _


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

* * *

**Two months later…**

"Hey, Light!"

Light smiled as he turned around, placing his helmet onto his head and regarding the familiar form of Matsuda Touta warmly.

Matsuda returned Light's smile, thought there was a tint of nervousness to it- there always was, right before heading out into the battlefield and trenches. "Hello, Matsuda," Light replied, grabbing his rifle up by the straps and slinging it over his shoulder, adjusting his helmet more comfortably onto his head as he did so.

The straps hung down and swayed as he walked, brushing against his chin in an annoying way, but a close call with some gas in his 2nd battle had taught him not to fasten the strap. He'd had to take the time to undo the clasp, which had been hard with horribly shaking fingers, and he'd almost not gotten his gas mask on in time.

It had been a close call, and ever since then, he'd had a terrible fear of fastening on his helmet so that he could not get it off if the need arose- and it no doubt would.

"You ready, Light?" Mastuda enquired, leaning comfortably against a pole that supported Light's tent, Mastuda's weight making the white construct lean slightly to one side. He was sure it wouldn't fall, though- he had quickly learned how to set up a tent so that it wouldn't collapse, no matter the weather, come torrents of rain or lashing winds.

Light nodded, checking to make sure his mask was secured firmly to his belt within easy access, that he had his rounds of ammunition, and a few cigarettes- though he hated the nasty, acrid taste and the way they burned and clogged his lungs, he did have one occasionally. Sometimes, there were nights that he couldn't afford to fall asleep, and the burn of the cigarettes cleared his head and kept him awake. And there were other men that enjoyed cigarettes far more than he did, and would be willing to trade different things for them. Trade was a useful commodity and way of life in the camp- something Light had learned quickly, among other things.

Once he was sure that he had everything, Light looked up, quirking an eyebrow a Matsuda. "You keep leaning on that like you are," Light told Mastuda, elbowing him playfully in the ribs as he walked by, "and the whole thing will fall over."

Chuckling, Matsuda stood up straight and followed after Light, easily catching up and striding along at the other Japanese man's side. "I doubt that," Matsuda said laughingly, grinning at Light good-naturedly, glad for the teasing that was able to take his mind off of what they were heading off to do. "You can put up a tent better than anyone here."

There was always a feeling of mixed excitement and fear before heading out to the trench fields, because it was horrible out there, terrible with the death and constant explosions and gunfire, but exciting, because any moment could be the last, and the adrenalin it brought with it was absolutely thrilling.

At least, to the new recruits. To the older ones like Light and Matsuda, who had been through more than a few experiences, it was more of a feeling of fear, because they knew _exactly_ what was going on, and it wasn't something anyone went to do willingly.

"Ah, I don't know," Light said playfully, stopping to peruse his tent. "Even my brilliant construction might not hold up under your weight."

"Hey!" Matsuda cried with indignance, and laughing, Light started jogging off to the truck that was in the distance, engine already running and ready to take them out to the trenches.

With a last glance back at the rows of white tents, Matsuda shook his head and raced off after the still-laughing Light, heart pounding furiously.

No matter how much he hated the camps…. He only hoped that he would be able to come back to them.

* * *

"This is the life, huh, Yagami?" Matsuda asked, smiling grimly at Light as dirt rained down onto them from a grenade that had been tossed at the trench they were currently situated in. Luckily, the throw had fallen short and it had exploded on the ground just on the edge of their trench, harmlessly going off and sending a rain of fine dirt down upon them. It was hot from the heat and caused little prickles of irritation on what little skin was exposed to it, but it was better than having the grenade actually land in their trench.

"Whatever you say, Touta!" Light shouted back, and then blinked as a pebble bounced off of his helmet and rolled to the ground in front of them. Mastuda stared at it for a moment before he laughed at the surprised look on Light's face.

Even in this situation, grenades and dirt and pebbles falling down about their heads, there was still room for humor. In this dismal, death-drenched land, any bit of humor, whether it be morbid or not was grasped at and taken advantage of, for cheerfulness was hard to come by in this harsh land.

It was the reason that, rather than getting angry or irritated, Light simply shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Really?" Light sighed, glaring up at the edge of the trench as the rain of dirt came to a slow cessation. He leant over and picked up the pebble, palming it a few times before tossing it back, over his shoulder.

Matsuda's eyes followed the trajectory of the pebble, noting the silence that had followed in the wake of the thrown grenade. It was eerily quiet, and nerves on edge, Mastuda shifted to his knees, butt of his gun clutched firmly in his hand. "What do you think's going on up there?" Matsuda asked, raising his eyes up, though he made no attempt to peer over the edge.

"Don't know," Light said, shrugging. Though he honestly didn't care- or want to look over the edge to see. He'd seen more than one man's body drop back, headless, into a trench after poking it up to take a gander at what was going on. He'd made no attempt to do so since the first time of seeing that- you learned quickly out here, or you died.

And luckily, Light had always been an exceptionally fast learner.

Another bomb exploded just outside their trench, breaking the silence and Light smiled ferally over at Matsuda, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "You want to stick your head over and see what's going on?" Light shouted over the sound of the explosive, grinning.

Matsuda only rolled his eyes and tugged his helmet lower over his face, attempting to better protect his eye from the dust and debris stirred up. He couldn't afford to chance his eyes blurring up- it would leave him at a disadvantage, and those kinds of things out in the middle of the trenches boded ill for the one afflicted. "No, thanks!" Matsuda yelled back, shuffling down even further to shield his eyes. "Though if you want to, be my guest, Lightbulb!"

"Advance!" The called command reverberated throughout the trenches, and Light and Matsuda froze, looking back to see the man running by that was calling out the command. His face was tense and frightened, yet he trudged on, sloshing through the filthy muck that was accumulated rainwater, filth, and blood at the bottom of the trenches.

Tearing his gaze away from the messenger, Light tilted his head back to look at Matsuda, a nervous, flighty grin settling onto his lips. No matter how many trenches he jumped, he'd never get over the fear of having to heave himself over the trench, vulnerable for the time it took to get on his feet and sprint forwards, dodging enemy fire and having to face the chance that the first trench they came upon was occupied by enemy soldiers. Light still had nightmares about the first time that happened, his first instance of hand-to-hand combat against two soldiers. He had survived, but only thanks to Mastuda tumbling down the trench after Light just in time to throw one off balance and distract the other, allowing Light to pull out his knife and stab the other in the throat with it.

"Guess we'll get to see what's going on either way, won't we?" Light asked, reliving that first memory over again and Mastuda nodded jerkily, fear slashing though him sharply.

The sound of gunfire and yells and screams and the general din of the battlefield never let up even as both men hesitantly stood up with the rest of those in that trench, grip tightening on guns and helmets readjusted.

"Good luck," Matsuda said, and Light nodded.

"You as well, Matsuda."

Ad then, there was no more time for talking, because as a group, they and the rest of the men rushed out of the trench, their only objective to reach the next trench that was 40 feet in front of them, clear it of enemy soldiers and situate themselves safely into it.

Light raced alongside Matsuda, ignoring the men that fell to the ground on either side of them, paying no attention to the way they clasped their stomachs or clutched their legs or arms or simply fell limply to the ground, blood spraying from the back of their heads.

There was simply no time to pay attention to that, focused as Light was on getting to the next trench, the thing that signified safety. Get to the trench, and he would be safe. It was the only thought on his mind, and he almost had a heart attack as a soldier clad in enemy uniform stepped in front of him, hate twisting his face and gun raised, finger about to pull the trigger and shoot Matsuda.

Light was able to react to this; quickly, he raised his own gun and shot the man, bracing himself as he forced his finger to constrict around the trigger. He blinked as blood splattered onto his face, the impact of the bullet hitting the man right in the fleshy stomach, sending blood spreading out in a gruesome arc.

_Oh God oh God oh God-_

"C'mon, Light, keep moving!" Matsuda urged, seeing Light just standing there, staring dumbly at the enemy soldier. He grabbed Light's shoulder and shook it while simultaneously pushing him forwards. It served to break Light out of his stupor and he shook his head, forcing his legs to move, to carry him forwards.

He stumbled for a moment but quickly righted himself, running jerkily over the mounds of dirt and pitted earth, destroyed and torn up from constant bombardment and heavy boots plowing it up. Another soldier stumbled in front of them, making Matsuda jerk to a stop with a curse and Light to hastily raise his gun, but then they recognized the familiar uniform of an ally.

The man was wild-eyed, crazily looking around and clutching an arm that was twisted in a sickening way. A stream of saliva dribbled down his lips as his eyes locked onto Mastuda and Light, and he stepped forwards, yelling something that they couldn't understand.

But they understood what was wrong with him. The man was pain-crazed, a condition that happened quite often out here, in the fields. The shock of a massive injury combined with the panic and feel of pain settling in drove men to a craze, made them stupid and likely to get killed.

And even before Light's eyes, as the man ran towards them, gibbering something, a bullet tore through his chest, sending him flying forwards and Light and Mastuda had to dodge the body as it came at them. The man crumpled to the ground a few inches in front of them, a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been.

"Shit," Matsuda swore, both at the delay, (the less people there were to hide in, the better the chance of getting shot, so it was always desired to get to the trenches and off no-man's land first) and at an Allied man dying in front of them.

"He-" Light gasped, but then shook his head, forcing away the shock and fear that was thrumming in his veins, threatening to make him freeze up. Move. They needed to move, and they needed to move now, to get to the trenches and safety.

_Keep moving keep moving we have to- Oh God, just keep going please please please-_

Grabbing the front of Matsuda's uniform, Light started running, dragging him along, feeling the need to keep moving because they were sitting ducks just standing there. Matsuda stumbled at first, almost slipping on the blood from the man's body, but then he gained his bearings and shook Light off, nodding in thanks as they both stated moving once more.

Smoke from bombs and grenades and dust that had been stirred up made the air hazy, hard to breathe and hard to see through. Light squinted in front of him, trying desperately to see where they were headed. Through the haze, he could barely make out the figures of other men running- he assumed they were Allied troops, because they were running in the same direction he and Matsuda were.

The trench was just ahead, and he could already see a few Allied men leaping over the side, guns and knives raised, ready to oust the enemy and take the trench over. Light longed with all of his heart to be there, to be out of this deadly no-man's-land and not be vulnerable.

He longed for this so much, that it was a harsh shock when something careened into him, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him, forcing the breath out of his lungs.

"I'm…sorry…" the soldier whispered faintly, wincing as Light struggled to get free out from the weight pinning him to the ground. He clawed at the ground, attempting to get free, and finally, in desperation, reached up to push the strangely-still soldier off of him.

Wet hotness seeped into his gloves as he reached up, however and he froze, eyes traveling from the ground to his fingers, seeing a dark, thick liquid staining the brown leather of his gloves an even darker color.

"Oh," Light breathed, realization striking like a bullet to the chest. He froze, not knowing what to do, heart hammering in his ears, the sound horridly reminiscent of an automatic gun.

More gently now, he shifted his grip so that he was not touching the wounded soldier in his injury and gently pushed upwards, relieving some of the weight. The soldier groaned in pain as Light did this, but he forced himself to ignore the sound, working on shifting and sliding to his knees, resting the soldier's torso in his lap so Light could assess the injury for himself.

His eyes flicked down, meeting light blue ones, bleary with pain, and then traveled down, eventually coming to a stop on the solder's stomach, where there was a gaping hole seeping hot blood. It was grotesque, and yet Light could not tear his eyes away, not until a hand wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him down to ear level with the soldier's mouth.

"Is it bad?" the soldier whispered fearfully, and in that moment, the veneer of the hardened soldier the boy was trying to pass off crumbled. Light's heart clenched as he realized the boy couldn't have been any older than he was.

A sudden thump behind him made him crane his neck to see that Mastuda had dived down behind him. Consternation was in his eyes as Mastuda rose to his knees, looking around with keen eyes. Light felt relief settle in his stomach as he knew that his friend had his back and he returned his gaze to the soldier's stomach, breathing deeply in an effort to stay calm as he tried to gauge how bad the wound was.

The sharp, acrid smell of intestinal acid reached Light's nose, as he breathed in, though and at that moment he knew for certain the bullet buried in the boy's gut had ruptured his intestines. It was a fatal wound, Light knew. It was not the first time he had heard tell of such injuries, and he knew the boy would not make it.

He twisted his neck to meet Matsuda's eyes, which were gazing over his shoulder at the young soldier's wound, and when he met familiar brown eyes, he saw silent resignation written in them.

A sharp tug brought his attention back to the soldier and he looked down once more.

"Answer me," the boy said, a trembling note of fear creeping into his thin, wavering voice, drawing Light's attention back to him. "Is it bad?" There was a hopeful glint within his eyes, a desperate need for Light to tell him that it would be alright.

Swallowing, Light attempted to calm himself down, to come up with a logical answer, to muster up the courage to tell the boy the lie he needed to hear. He was just parting his lips to speak as another spray of gunfire pelted the ground near them. Kneeling behind him, Matsuda cursed, reminding Light of their true predicament and at that moment, with absolute certainty, Light knew there was only one thing he could do. It would be cruel to leave the boy alone here, suffering, and Light could not justify the act of sacrificing his own life simply to ease the pain of the boy's last hour.

He was a sitting target out here, and once the dust and smoke cleared, it would take only a matter of seconds for the enemy forces to take advantage of that.

Swallowing tightly, Light locked eyes with the boy cradled in his arms and nodded. "Yes," Light choked out, shifting the boy to his left arm so he could fumble for his knife, secured to his belt at his side. "You'll be alright, just hold on until help gets here, alright?" Light told the boy, feeling his stomach roil in self-disgust as he saw the boy's eyes lighten with newfound hope, even as he winced when Light shifted a bit to get a better hold on his knife.

The boy nodded in relief, and Light swallowed he said, with forced semi-levity, "Hey, close your eyes. This close to the ground, something could fly up and get into them."

Wholeheartedly believing the care that Light injected into his voice, the soldier nodded and his eyes slid shut in what Light knew would be the last time.

Light let out a shaky breath, face twisted in anguish before he swung the knife straight down, lodging it with accurate precision in the boy's breast. There was a small splatter of blood that stained Light's forehead dirty red as the knife struck the boy in the chest, piercing his heart and killing him instantly.

The tension seeped out of the boy's body, dirty, pain-tensed face relaxing as his body went limp in light's arms. Heart twisting, Light wrenched the knife out of the boy's chest, letting it hang loosely in his fingers as he slumped backwards onto his thighs, staring unseeingly at the boy's face in shock.

It was not the first time that Light had killed- but it was the first time it had been like this, so close to home and almost personal, despite the fact that Light had never met the boy before. The boy had not been an enemy, though- just another child in a war that they had been unwillingly sucked into, and with a jolt, Light realized that their positions could have been reversed.

It could have been him, in the soldier's place.

A choked, desperate gasp tore out of his throat at the thought and he let the body tumble from his arms, stomach roiling turbulently, threatening to make him sick. His stomach heaved and throat closed up as he stumbled to his feet, letting the knife fall from his loose fingers to the ground below, sparing it no more thought. He didn't want to- it had blood on it, and the thought was enough to make him heave in disgust once again.

"Light! Light!" The sound of his name made him jerk his head up, meeting serious, concerned brown eyes. He felt the weight of a hand upon his shoulder, and then there was yelling in his ear as that hand was once more pushing him forwards.

"I know, Light," Matsuda shouted through the sound of gunfire that was slowly starting to filter into Light's ears again, invading and dispelling the stupor he had been in. "It's bad, but don't think of it, forget it, at least until later! You gotta move Light, so come on!"

Matsuda's words, coupled with a harsh shove broke through the last of his daze and he shook his head, forcing his feet to move once more. His eyes burned with the smoke and dirt clogging the air and he felt for Matsuda's hand like a lifeline, blindly fumbling up to his shoulder and grasping the glove-covered fingers as he stumbled along after his friend.

"We're almost there, Light!" he heard Matsuda say, over the sounds of chaos as death and his boots thudding on the ground like a battle drum and his heart still relentlessly ticking down and _so much noise so much I can't take it what did I do what do I do oh God no no no-_

"Just a few more-" And then, there was a jarring explosion, a sharp cry, and his lifeline was severed, dragging him down along to the ground as Matsuda fell.

Light tumbled, his grasp on Matsuda's hand broken and he laid there in shock for a moment, his eyes wide and _-no no no what happened Matsuda Matsuda Matsuda what-_

Heaving himself to his knees, he had enough presence of mind to do a mental check, making sure that nothing was hurt on himself before raising his head, amber eyes flicking over to the side. They widened as Light saw Matsuda a few feet away, curled up on his side, facing Light. His face was twisted in anguish, and as Light's eyes traveled down his friend's body, mentally scanning for any sign as to what was wrong, his heart almost stopped at what he saw.

_No, no anyone but Matsuda please don't let it be as bad as it looks-_

Gasping, Light rose shakily to his feet and stumbled towards Matsuda, ignoring the pelting of bullets around him as he neared the fallen man.

"Oh, God, Matsuda," Light choked out, dropping to his knees beside his friend. With trembling hands, he reached out half-heartedly for Matsuda's mangled leg before stopping himself, snatching his hand back. Bullets rained around them, making Light duck in reflex, regarding Matsuda from underneath his lashes.

The sound of the explosions only added to the chaos, and the sounds of the dying and wounded screaming in the background only served to make Matsuda even more fearful in the wake of what had just happened.

"Light- it hurts," Matsuda whimpered, eerily childlike in the face of the pain wracking his body. His eyes were clenched shut as he attempted to drown out the awful noises of the background.

Swallowing hard, Light tried to offers some sort of reassurance, some empty lie- _because his leg looks like ground sausage- No, no, no, don't think that Light!- _ to calm Matsuda down. But no lies issued forth, the false words getting caught in his throat as he gazed into the scared brown eyes of the man that he regarded as his closest friend.

Licking his lips, Light tried again after a few moments. "I know, Matsuda, I know," Light got out, desperately trying to think of something to do- _because it can't be Matsuda, no, no, please don't let him die let him live please come on Light think of something to do damnit-!_

"What happened?" Matsuda whispered, wincing as a grenade exploded somewhere behind them, the loud sound hurting his ears. It was a futile attempt to distract himself from the pain searing his leg, threatening to consume it- maybe, if he could recreate the scene, it would force him to focus on something else.

"I think it was a shrapnel bomb," Light rasped, his throat a bit hoarse from the acrid smoke that pervaded the battlefield and from yelling earlier.

A shrapnel bomb…? Maybe…

Matsuda remembered running for the next trench next to Light, and then a bright flash of light, falling, and then Light was suddenly next to him, a horrified, haunted look on his handsome face. And now, there was a pain that was slowly building in his leg, in the upper section, and a creeping numbness starting in his toes and slowly making its way up through his calf.

And he was scared-terrified- at the fact that he couldn't move his leg or force it to move worried him, scared him more than he thought was possible.

Struggling, he attempted to sit up and see what had become of his leg, but Light pushed him down, frantically trying to prevent Matsuda from seeing the mangled mess that was now his limb. He couldn't let Matsuda see that- it would put him into shock, at the least, make him panic and thrash and hurt himself more.

"No, no, no," Light chanted, trying to stay calm even as he watched blood stream from Matsuda's leg, and he almost gagged upon seeing a large, gleaming shard of shrapnel sticking out grotesquely from the muscle. It quivered horribly in time to Matsuda's heartbeat, blood trickling out from around the edges of the wound.

"Just- just stay there, alright? Don't move, okay?" Light asked frantically, mind reeling and stuttering, half-formed thoughts flashing through it, over and over like a broken record.

_Can't let him see, oh God, don't look don't look, it's not that bad is it- oh, Jesus Christ, how the hell did this happen how could I let it happen no no no-_

"Is it bad?" Matsuda fearfully asked, brown eyes gazing up at Light with absolute fear and uncertainty in them.

The sight tore at Light's heart and he shifted closer, drawing Matsuda up and clutching his closer, silently offering comfort and some slight protection from the bullets that pelted the ground around them, whizzing by Light's ears and burying onto the hot, dry dirt underneath them.

Light raised a shaking hand up and brushed Matsuda's grimy hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes. He almost choked as he saw that there was dried blood on it from the other soldier- the boy- that had died earlier from a gunshot wound to the stomach.

That boy had asked the same question that Matsuda had- and he had lied, saying that no, it wasn't so bad, because it was what the poor boy had needed. And it had worked- Light had prevented him from hours of suffering, allowing the boy to die instantly in peace.

But Mastuda wasn't fatally wounded, nor was he some strange, dying boy that Light had chanced upon. This was Matsuda Touta, a second-generation Japanese immigrant like Light was, engaged to be married after he returned home to a Miss Merrie Kenwood. This was his friend, and he couldn't- wouldn't- lie to him.

"Yeah," Light choked, unable to lie to his friend. Unable to meet Mastuda's scared, frightened eyes, he looked up, relief surging though him upon seeing the familiar uniforms of American and Allied troops surging around them. His heart leaped momentarily at the sight of the reinforcements, knowing that the influx of soldiers meant that this battle, for them at least, was over.

But as Mastuda shifted in his arms, his attention jerked back to his friend, and he went back to preventing Mastuda from getting a good look at his wound, as he was trying to do. "It's bad. Just don't look, okay? Whatever you do, don't look," Light quietly ordered Matsuda, and the Japanese man nodded as best as he could, his face bleaching unnaturally white at Light's words.

He was grateful for the truth, though- he didn't know if he could have handled it had he seen the lie so obvious in Light's amber eyes. If nothing else, at least he could say Light was honest up until the very end.

His next words were horrible, he knew, taking advantage of that honesty that he found so endearing in Light. "Am I going to die?" Matsuda whispered, clutching onto Light's hand desperately, searching his face for any sign of closure or reassurance.

_No, no, no, not Matsuda-!_

"No!" Light said fiercely, dimly noting that the gunfire was starting to ebb around them, the sounds of gunshots sounding farther away and slowly letting up. His hands went white under Matsuda's painful grip but he ignored it, thankful for the strength that Matsuda possessed- someone with such strength, with such a strong grip could not be dying, could they?

"You are not going to die! We'll… You're going to the hospital, alright? We'll get you there!" Light said with conviction. There was a hard glint to his eyes that Matsuda found comforting- because Light never lied, not that he knew, and if Light said that he was going to be okay, then it would be okay.

"Stretcher-bearers! Bearers coming!"

Light's head snapped up as the call went out. The gunfire had long ceased, and the hospital aide, deeming it safe, now made their way onto the field, heeding the desperate calls for help. Beneath him, Matsuda craned his neck upwards, trying to see what was going on.

"Stretcher-bearers…" Light whispered, a fierce glint coming to his eyes as he saw the familiar white stretchers. He glanced down at Matsuda, giving him a brief, hopeful smile, forcing conviction into his eyes. "See? They're coming. Hold on, Matsuda, alright? Just hold on, okay?"

Searching Light's eyes and seeing the determination within them, Matsuda nodded. Taking this as a reassuring sign, Light carefully let Matsuda's torso onto the ground, standing up. He ripped his helmet off and waved it in the air, trying desperately to call the attention of anyone, any of the stretcher-bearers that were just making their way onto the field.

Luckily, two men noticed Light, and they ran over, stretcher held between them. "What happened?" one of the men asked as they lifted Matsuda carefully, his usually healthy golden-toned skin going a pale white as he blanched from the pain of having his leg jostled. He let out no sound of pain, however, and Light was somewhat proud of him for that- for holding himself together and coherent, even in the wake of the pain Light knew Mastuda had to be suffering from.

"Shrapnel bomb," Light replied raspily, watching like a hawk as they situated Mastuda onto the stretcher so that he would not fall off. His throat burned from the smoke he had inhaled, as well as the dry particles of dust that had gotten caught in his parched throat as he added, "At least, I think…"

The men nodded sympathetically as they hoisted the stretcher up, balancing it expertly between them. Matsuda's hands clenched onto the metal sides of the stretcher, face strained and knuckles going white. The man looked at Light, and one of them asked, as he gestured with his chin, "Do you want to come?"

Matsuda looked up hopefully at Light, a silent plead in his eyes. Unable to simply leave his friend alone, and not wanting to he nodded firmly. "Yes. I'm coming."

_Because if I leave you now, there might be a chance that I'd never see you again._

It was not a thought that was voiced, but it hung there, silent in the dirty air as Mastuda met Light's eyes.

The men nodded and began a careful, practiced jog across the battlefield and to the ambulance that was awaiting them. The horses harnessed to the wagon tossed their heads at the ruckus that surrounded them, the smell that pervaded the air making them uneasy. They didn't attempt to bolt, though, even as the men bearing Matsuda came to a swift halt at the wagon, sifting their grip to lift Matsuda inside and set him down next to the other injured men they had collected.

Without waiting to be asked, Light placed a hand on the back of the wagon and used it as leverage to jump up, kneeling at Mastuda's side. He reached out for Mastuda's hand and the injured man took it with relief, squeezing Light's hand in an attempt to channel the pain somewhere else. Light said nothing about the discomfort as his own hand turned white, and a few minutes later, a whip was cracked and the ambulance rolled away, heading away from the trenches on the outskirts of Paris and into the city itself, where the hospital was.

* * *

Orderlies streamed out the moment the ambulance came to a halt in the front of the large building, coming around the back of the wagon to carry the stretchers inside.

Light jumped out, along with a few other soldiers that had accompanied their injured friends. He waited anxiously as Matsuda's stretcher was lifted and followed as they carried him away from the wagon and into the hospital.

The moment he stepped in, Light's eyes widened in mixed disbelief and confusion.

This hospital, statute especially for soldiers injured on the field of battle, was something Light had never been in before. He had been quite lucky in his injuries- a few cuts and scrapes that nothing a dousing of alcohol and some clean bandages could not take care of.

But this… it was nothing like he had seen. It was clean chaos- the only way he could describe it. The walls, bedsheets and curtains were all a pristine, gleaming white, such a drastic change from the muddled gray, brown, and greens of the camps the soldiers were quartered at, in the outskirts of Paris.

And yet, it was simply chaotic. Female nurses and male orderlies were rushing around, papers, bandages, and medicine packets clutched tightly in their hands, faces drawn taut in worry. There were soldiers scattered throughout the room, the only smudges of color besides the crimson red of blood from the wounded being carried in. They were helping to carry the stretchers or standing at bedsides of the wounded and fallen, faces altering between grief and relief.

Someone bumped into him, jerking him out of his daze and he realized that Mastuda's stretcher was still being carried, way down to the end of the hall, where a doctor, recognizable in the long white coat worn over dark clothing was talking to a female nurse.

"Doctor!" one of the men carrying Matsuda's stretcher called, gaining the man's attention. "This man requires immediate attention!"

Nodding shortly, the aged doctor brushed off the nurse at his side and with short, clipped strides, made his way to the stretcher. Light followed closely, eyebrows furrowed in worry at Matsuda's silence. His friend had been uncharacteristically quiet, and glancing down, he could see the red pooling under his leg, staining the cloth covering the stretcher a horrid red. His brown eyes were glazed and face a worrying ashen grey.

"Hm," the doctor huffed, eyebrows rising as he glanced cursorily at Matsuda's leg. He reached out and with a clawlike, spindly finger, plucked at the cloth of Matsuda's uniform trousers, eliciting a pained gasp from him.

"What the hell?!" Light hissed, reaching over to slap the doctor's hand away, leveling an angry glare upon the man that he was coming to dislike a bit more each second. "Can't you see he's injured?! Be careful!"

The doctor recoiled momentarily, before his eyes narrowed and he turned away, gesturing to the orderlies. "The femur is shattered, and the shrapnel shredded the muscle. The leg is unrecoverable. Bring him," the doctor said in a clipped tone, already rolling the sleeves of his coat up.

_Unrecoverable_.

Light froze and Mastuda's eyes cleared enough to show the utter fear that passed through them at the words.

Unrecoverable meant unrecoverable. Unrecoverable limbs were useless.

And useless things were always disposed of.

It was a blatant sentence for Matsuda, an almost discreetly blunt way of telling him that the leg would have to be amputated. The utter casualness of the life-altering words was cruel, in which there was no way to break it to Matsuda gently.

No," Matsuda whispered, brown eyes locked firmly upon the retreating back of the surgeon, disbelief lacing his voice before he recovered. "No!" Matsuda cried with more strength, a tiny bit of color flooding into his cheeks as he attempted to sit up, face flushing with the exertion and pain it caused him. But the orderlies ignored him, straightening up to lift the stretcher once more. One not holding the stretcher reached out to push Mastuda back down upon it, so that he would not fall off in his struggling.

"Stop!" Light barked, pushing the orderly away from Matsuda, making the man gasp and stumble back. Light paid him no attention, however, turning his anger upon the doctor who had stopped to see what the disruption was, irritation and impatience written upon his face.

"Heartless bastard!" Light yelled after the surgeon, lunging for the elderly man, rage making him grit his teeth and red to briefly flash across his vision. However, before he could get around the stretcher and shake some compassion into the man, his arms were grabbed, making him come to a sharp halt. However, Light had never been one to give up easily and he twisted, face warping into a mask of rage.

"Matsuda!" Light yelled, shaking off the restraining hands and lurching towards his friend, whose dirty face was pale with shock and stricken with terror as his stretcher was borne away. For the doctor to be so callous in his words was something that inspired an utter loathing of the surgeon in him. He wanted to get to Matsuda to comfort him, or the surgeon, to strangle him or just hurt him in _some_ way for being such a bastard.

"Light!" Matsuda cried, fear making the whites of his eyes shine large and bright. He was unable to sit up, as mangled as his leg was, but he reached out to Light- for comfort, for security, and Light attempted to reach his friend, but he was restrained by men in white, who were stronger and better-fed than he was, just getting off the front lines.

"Stop that struggling now," one of the burly men said, his beard-scruffed face frowning at Light with disapproval. He jerked Light's dirty, uniform-clad arms behind his back, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of Light's odor, the smell of death and blood and trench filth and mud.

"No! Let me go! That's my friend, you bastards!" Light screamed, struggling and twisting futilely. He saw, out of the corner of his eye as Matsuda was carted away, bastard of a surgeon right behind him, already reaching into his pockets for something.

"Oh, for the love of-" the orderly started to curse, but was cut off as Light maliciously stamped on his foot, grinding the heel of his boot into the orderlies' foot. "Get a nurse with a sedative," the man hissed, jerking Light to the side harshly amidst his struggles. "The lunatic's not going to-"

"You do that, and you will be out of that uniform and onto the streets so fast, your head will spin," a calm voice interrupted, cutting through the chaos and making all in the vicinity still. It was a pleasantly deep voice, almost apathetic, but Light could detect a subtle hint of anger lacing it.

"Doctor L!" the man grasping Light's arm choked out, struggling to get Light to stop fighting. "He's attempting to-"

"To follow and comfort his friend?" the new man interrupted abruptly, and Light could hear light footsteps upon the wooden floor as the man drew nearer. He could sense the anger in the voice more now, as well as the authority backing it. "I see nothing wrong with that, orderly. Now, release the young man, or I will have you for insubordination. You might be an orderly, but you are still enlisted in the army and are therefore under my superior command." The voice was hard and filled with authority- the voice of a man accustomed to issuing orders and having them fulfilled at once.

Still, the man talking seemed to be on Light's side, and he felt a rush of gratitude towards this "Doctor L."

The large man holding Light's arm hesitated for a moment, but then he released Light's arm angrily and stalked off, his companion following quickly after him. Light had to resist the urge to spit a curse after him, and almost ran in the direction Matsuda had been taken before remembering the man that had intervened on his behalf.

Grateful, Light turned to the man who had spoken with the intention of thanking him, but was a bit surprised and underwhelmed at what he saw. The shock of the sight that met him wholly diverted his attention from Mastuda, forgetting his friend in favor of examining the enigma that had suddenly appeared.

To tell the truth, he had been expecting a tall, broad-shouldered man, straight-backed and proud, brimming with authority.

But what he got was an odd-looking man, dressed in dark clothes underneath a blood-splattered white doctor's coat. He was extremely thin, with paper-pale skin that only seemed more bleached -white and stark in contrast with his obsidian-black eyes. They were rimmed with thick, tired-looking black circles that bespoke many sleepless nights, and spikey, flyaway, inky hair that spilled onto his shoulders and fell into his eyes in sharp jags of bangs. That combined with his slouch made him a very unimpressive figure- and Light would have been skeptical of his title of a doctor if not for the sharp, intelligent glint in his exhausted eyes, or the way he held himself with authority despite his slouch.

Seeing Light's inquisitive glance, the man's pale lips quirked up in a slight smile, a bit self-depreciating, if Light read it correctly. "I think I know the path your thoughts are taking- I am not a very impressive sight, am I?"

The voice was the same as the one that had spoken, leaving no doubt whatsoever that this was indeed the man that had forced those men to let him go and made them leave. Hearing the voice paired with the man actually helped cement the man's doctoral status in Light's mind, and Light quickly shook his head, not wanting to offend the doctor. "No- well, yes," Light said, unable to lie in the face of those all-knowing eyes. They were quite remarkable, with the way they stared straight through him- he was unable to tell an untruth when those intelligent eyes were boring into him. "You don't look much like a doctor."

The doctor's smile twisted into something that was both unhappy and rueful. It was one Light recognized- the same smile was present on his lips when he talked of anything unpleasant, which was quite a lot of the time nowadays. "Months of watching young men die while you stand around able to do nothing will do that to you, I'm afraid."

Light flinched under the harsh words, though he was sure that the doctor hadn't meant anything by them- his tone was matter-of-fact, though there was a bitter bite to them, directed mostly at the speaker himself.

"But you've not come here to listen to a doctor's ramblings, have you?" the doctor asked, his black eyes flicking down to the clipboard he was holding, skimming over the numerous names listed there. "You were quite adamant about that young man not going alone- I found that quite commendable, especially in a place such as this."

Sighing, the doctor ripped off a piece of paper, and plucked out a pen from behind his ear- funny, Light hadn't seen it, buried as it was behind a mass of feathery, inky tresses. He grasped it oddly gracefully in between forefinger and thumb, writing something down on it before holding it out to Light, stuck in-between his middle and ring finger. "Show this to anyone who wants to stop you- it gives you permission to stay here with your young friend."

A bit cautiously, Light took the proffered paper, scanning over it quickly. It simply said, _Here with permission- L._

"L?" Light asked, looking up curiously at the pale man, brows furrowed.

The man nodded, replacing the pen behind his ear and tucking the pen back behind his ear. "Yes. I am L. Doctor L, or 'Doc' for short, if you wish," he told Light, a small spark of mirth lighting his eyes, even though his face remained apathetic. "I'm the head doctor here-or anywhere, really. I'm well-known; that note will get you where you need to go uncontested, Mr…?"

L trailed off, looking at Light expectantly. He jerked, realizing that he had rudely not given his name. _Stupid_, he berated himself. _Be impolite to the man that just prevented you from being tossed out on your ass and lets you stay with Matsuda!_

"Light Yagami," Light said, about to hold out his hand, before glancing down and seeing the filth that littered it. Instead, Light quickly dropped it, ashamed of how dirty he was.

He was surprised, though, when L intercepted his hand and grasped it, filth and all, and shook it. It was an odd grip, as he held Light's hand between forefinger and thumb, but his grip was firm and earnest. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yagami," L told him, the hint of a small smile on his pale lips.

Light blinked, shocked at the doctor's actions, at which the smile only grew a bit wider. "I've been up to my elbows in men's guts before; a little dirt won't bother me. Though, you'll have to excuse me," L continued, releasing Light's hand and wiping his now dirty fingers on his jacket. "Can't perform operations with filthy hands."

Light returned L's smile, compelled to do so in reaction to this odd doctor's kind actions. It was not fear of Light's filth that had the doctor holding his hand with such an odd grip- it was forethought for his future patients. "I understand."

At that moment, the door burst open and another nurse dressed in white flew in, her face worried and tense.

"Doctor L! There's an amputation- he's losing blood, the surgeon doesn't know what to do! Please, come quickly!" she gasped, face a mask of worry.

L whipped around, his eyes narrowing and face and demeanor become more intent. Light stepped back, taken aback by the sudden change from relaxed to serious. "If that bastard had listened to me and had his materials ready," L snarled, insinuating that he knew exactly which surgeon the nurse was talking about and jumping into action, L ran for the door, rolling the sleeves of his white coat up as he did so, continuing, "we wouldn't be having this problem!"

Not knowing what else to do, Light hastily followed, running after the doctor and bypassing the startled nurse that was holding the door open. The door slammed shut and the nurse followed after them, quickly catching up.

"Tell me!" L barked at the nurse, taking a sharp left and striding through a door. He wiped his hands on his black pants that Light could see now were oddly stiff for the cotton cloth they appeared to be made of- and then realization made him jerk as it dawned upon him that it was dried blood making the doctor's pants so stiff.

"The soldier's leg up to his thigh had to be amputated- a piece of metal shattered the femur, and it's unrecoverable. The surgeon removed the leg without complication, but then he lost grip of the femoral artery, and blood started going everywhere."

"Shit!" L hissed as he took another left, slamming open the door to a room and coming to ana, and Light could see over the shorter man's shoulders the figure of a man lying on the operating table- and it was a horrific shock to see that it was Matsuda lying there.

"Matsuda!" Light cried, lurching forwards.

His sudden outburst drew the attention of both the nurse and doctor with him, and those at his friend's side. When the surgeon currently working on Matsuda looked up, his gaze drawn by Light's cry, his eyes fell onto L's slouched form and his eyes narrowed, bloodied hands clenching as he worked frantically at Matsuda's side. "What the hell are you doing?! I will not have you interfere!" the surgeon said angrily.

L ignored the surgeon, going over to the pan of water at the bedside and washing his hands, before turning to the infuriated surgeon. "It was one of your nurses that came to get me," L said, his voice calm but Light could see that his body's stance all but radiated anger. The surgeon bristled, and L turned to the nurse that had accompanied them. "Remove him, please," L directed, pointing at the surgeon.

Light watched all of this, frozen in shock, so he jerked when L turned to him, fixing piercing eyes on him. "This is the man from before- your friend, correct?"

Horrified, all Light could do was nod his head.

"Good," L said, ignoring the struggles of the surgeon as he was hauled away, moving around to take the surgeon's place and taking the forceps he had been holding from the assisting nurse. "Thank you," he murmured to the woman, and she nodded before going back to cleaning the blood from the stump that was all that was left of Matsuda's leg.

L bent over Matsuda's stump, lowering his forceps, and he did something that Light was thankful he couldn't see. He held the forceps to the side, handing it to the nurse. "Hold the femoral artery," L ordered. "Keep it tight and don't allow it to slip again- the bumbling idiot almost made this man lose his life when he lost grip of it before."

The nurse nodded, swiftly taking the forceps, his hand squeezing tight around the handles and the two men quickly switched places. L wiped his hands off and then he looked up to Light. "I'll need your help with this," L told him, a deadly seriousness making his black eyes flat and intense.

Help? Oh, God- Light felt that he was about to puke at the sight of the blood spurting out of Matsuda's leg, seeing the gleaming white circle of his friend's exposed thigh bone, the muscles surrounding it, and the miniscule vessels leaking blood. He saw it all distantly, feeling himself go lightheaded at scene before him.

What he had seen before in the midst of battle, in the trenches somehow paled in comparison to what he was seeing now, because it was his fucking friend here, his friend's goddamn leg cut away and-

Oh, God!

Light stumbled backward and bent over, his hand clutching at his mouth and closing his eyes to block out the sight, shaking his head in a futile attempt to get rid of the image. There was a moaned protest, and dimly, Light was shocked to realize that it had been issued from his own mouth, a long, drawn out "No." It would have disturbed him more if he wasn't already so from the sight of his friend's bloody stump bared before him to see.

The thought made him start hyperventilating, and just as Light felt a scream start to build in his throat, threatening to issue forth, a sharp "smack" sounded a second before a knifelike pain shot through his cheek.

Light's head snapped back to the side and he rocked backwards, tears coming to his eyes in an involuntary reflex, and gasping, Light clutched his cheek. The pain cut through his muddled thoughts, though, and momentarily distracted him from Matsuda's situation, making him flick his eyes up to see who had slapped him, and his eyes meet black ones, only an inch or two away from his own.

L stared straight into Light's panicked amber eyes, his obsidian eyes serious and calm, and when he spoke, the low, soothing voice made some of Light's panic ebb away. "You need to calm down, Mr. Yagami, and help me unless you wish for your friend to bleed out on my operating table. Can you do that?"

A sudden wave of guilt speared through Light, and ashamed of his breakdown and weakness, he nodded. Standing up, he took a deep breath and let his gaze return to Matsuda, forcing himself to ignore the blood this time- _he was just another soldier, not his friend lying on the table with his leg cut off, just another random boy that Light couldn't care about_- and calmed himself.

"Yes," Light said, his voice wavering only the slightest. "What do you need me to do?"

L started at him for a moment, his eyes flicking over Light, assessing him, his mental state to see if he truly was calm, and then nodded shortly before going around to the side of Matsuda's missing leg.

Plucking a pair of large tweezers off the metal tray set off to the side, L beckoned for Light to come over to stand by him. "Usually I would not ask a soldier to do this, but we're short of hands," L said as Light came to stand by him, desperately trying to ignore the bloody stump. "It's not much- just hand me what I need when I tell you from that tray, hold the tweezers when I hand them to you, and for the love of God, don't let them slip," L ordered, and Light automatically nodded.

He watched, grossly fascinated as L reached around the nurse's hand that held the forceps with his tweezers and poked the bloody wetness of the exposed muscle. "There are major arteries in the leg muscle that need to be tied off," L explained offhandedly, his whole attention focused solely on the task before him. "I'll grab them with my tweezers and try to extend them out somewhat so I can tie them off. I could just sew the skin over the stump, but he would die of internal bleeding within the hour." A few seconds of silence passed, the only sounds in the room wet squelching from L's questing probe of the thigh muscle and the three men's breathing- Light's somewhat harsh and fast, while L's was quiet and steady, along with the nurse's.

"There," L suddenly said. "Nurse, hand me the thread- Mr. Yagami, hold these and remember what I said," L told him as the nurse deftly reached back without losing her grip on the forceps and passed the thread to L, while Light took ahold of the tweezers.

Looking down at them, Light could see a tiny strand of red clutched in between the thin metal of the tweezers.

It was hard to imagine that this was the deciding factor of Matsuda's-_No, no, no, just some random soldier, goddammit don't allow yourself to think of him as your friend right here right now fuck it all!- _life, whether or not Light could keep ahold of the tweezers and cut off the supply of blood to the open artery, preventing it from leaking the precious red liquid everywhere.

The thought, though, that he held a man's life in his hands made him grip the tweezers harder, his knuckles becoming white with the effort. Light watched as L deftly cut a small piece of thread off the roll with a jerk of his teeth and quickly reached around to tie it around the small tubule held between the tweezers' tongs, tying it off.

"Light, relax," L murmured, placing a bloody hand on Light's own, urging him to let go of the tweezers. He didn't acknowledge L's use of his first name instead of the more formal address, but instead just unclenched his fingers. L caught the tweezers swiftly, handing Light the roll of thread instead. "You did well," L said quietly, already reaching into the stump once more to fish out another vessel. "Just a few more to go," L said reassuringly, before pulling out another artery and handing it off to Light.

* * *

L was right, as Light was more than happy to admit. There were only a few more arteries to be tied off before L handed the tweezers, devoid of a vessel this time, off to Light and took the thread from him, cutting off another piece. The nurse seemed to know what L was going to do and stretched out the femoral artery a little bit more, enough so that L could wrap a piece of thread around it and tightly tie it off.

"Release," L ordered, and the nurse did so, backing away and placing the forceps on the tray. Without L having to ask, the nurse picked up a large needle and thick black thread, holding it ready as L carefully released the artery and wiped his hands off on his slacks. He then reached out and took hold of the outer layer of skin on the top of Mastuda's severed leg and the bottom, gently stretching them together, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His eyes flicked up to Light. "I need you to hold these together so I can sew it shut. Can I trust you to do this?"

Trust. It was such a big word, here in this situation with Matsuda's life hanging on whether he could do what L asked of him. Matsuda… Light's eyes trailed up to his friend's face, and Light remembered the way his friend's face was usually pulled into a welcoming smile, his brown eyes sparkling and white teeth sparkling happily against his olive skin.

This person on the operating table was nothing like Matsuda- this pale-faced, tensed-up mockery of Matsuda. He wanted Mastuda back- wanted his admittedly stupid happiness, his merry talk of his fiancée back in America, and his buoyant personality that made war-ravaged France not so desolate and depressing.

Swallowing, determined to get a grip on himself so he could help get Matsuda the hell off this operating table and back to normal, Light nodded and reached out. His hands trembled as he took hold of the skin and held it together, feeling the strain of resistance as the resilient skin threatened to pull back into place.

"Good," L murmured, holding his hand out without taking his eyes off of Matsuda's thigh, the needle and thread being placed immediately into his hand. "Just hold it there and keep it steady," L told him, threading the needle expertly and placing the roll between his teeth to keep it out of his way.

And then, he set the needle to skin, and with fast, quick movements Light couldn't help but admire, L proceeded to sew up the amputation site, making the two pieces of skin come together in a neat- if not grotesque- line.

L cut the thread with a jerk of his teeth, one-handedly handed both needle and thread to the attending nurse, and then stepped back. He wiped his hands off on his pants as the nurse moved in and wiped the blood from the area, washing it off and applying antiseptic and gauze to help trap any blood that was still leaking a bit.

And Light had to admit- when L turned back to him after cleaning his hands, he was expecting some sort of grand fanfare, some flourish proclaiming the miracle L had just worked, that Light had just witnessed being performed in front of his eyes. Because L had just taken a raw, bloody stump that was all that was left of Matsuda's leg, and turned it into the neat, skin-covered appendage it was now.

But instead, L just raised his eyes to meet Light's, a small, reassuring smile on his lips and a weary, if not satisfied gleam in his eye, and simply said, "Done."


End file.
